


Sutures

by theeventualwinner



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Hurt / Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, post-Thangorodrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/pseuds/theeventualwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously 'Solace': now a collation of Maedhros (and requisite other characters) ficlets scattered throughout his timeline upon Arda. All continue on in a similar headcanon-consistent vein from Open Wounds if situated in post-Thangorodrim times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solace

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Open Wounds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818529) by [theeventualwinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/pseuds/theeventualwinner). 



The bed was not really big enough for the two of them, but between them they found the space. Maedhros lay curled into the right of Fingon’s body, leaving his braced arm and bandaged wrist free of any potential entrapments as quietly they lay together in the warm evening air. 

Maedhros dozed for a while, and looking down upon his cousin’s closed eyes Fingon smiled. The freckles that dusted his cheekbones were so familiar; his russet hair was so beautiful, he thought, even cropped to his shoulders as it was. So much younger Maedhros looked, so much more fragile but still so peaceful, and slowly Fingon leaned a little closer into him. 

A strange, soft sense of amour came over Fingon then, fond and innocent, and he shifted position slightly, he nuzzled his face into the side of Maedhros’ neck and just for a moment breathed him in. He heard the little sigh emanate from his cousin’s lips as tenderly he kissed him upon the cheek; he heard the slight gasp in his breath as he nudged playfully into him. Fingon trailed a little constellation of kisses down Maedhros’ neck, his lips barely grazing his cousin’s scarred skin but still so sweetly affectionate in their intent.  

It was not until Fingon’s lips met the curve of Maedhros’ uninjured shoulder that he paused; he raised himself a little in order to see his cousin more clearly. A warm, hopeful smile curved over his lips as he looked up, and then he saw that Maedhros was crying. 

Silent tears trickled down Maedhros’ cheeks but numbly still he lay against the pillows, and that numbness, that _passivity_ more than anything sent horror spearing through Fingon’s heart. Instantly he recoiled, he drew himself up and away from Maedhros as best as he could, and with such breathless terror in his voice he whispered, “Nelyo? Hey, Nelyo, what’s wrong? Did… did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…” 

“N-no, Finno…” Maedhros’ voice was faint; he sounded so _lonely_ , and guilt clove through Fingon’s chest. “It didn’t h-hurt, but…”

Fresh tears welled up in Maedhros’ eyes then, and Fingon was near stricken with horror as they began to spill slowly down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Nelyo… Nelyo, I’m so sorry,” Fingon pleaded. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you upset. I -” 

“It’s n-not your fault, Finno,” Maedhros whispered, and forlornly then he looked down to the narrow crevice of bedcovers between their bodies. “It’s _me_ …” 

A look of such despair turned over Maedhros’ face then that Fingon’s heart ached for him, and he opened his arms up as much as he could as he murmured, “Come here…”

At his invitation Maedhros curled tightly to him, and Fingon scooped his cousin into the most reassuring hug that he could. Maedhros’ face buried into the front of his tunic, and softly Fingon stroked his hair back from his flushed cheeks as he said, “Come on, now. It’s all right. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have done that… I – Hey, hey, don’t cry now. Don’t cry. What’s wrong, hmm?” 

Maedhros cringed into his chest, and Fingon could feel the tremors running through his cousin’s shoulder despite the rigid brace that held it. “You can tell me, Nelyo, it’s all right. Please, please will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“I d-didn’t like it…” Maedhros whispered at last, the shivering words muffled into Fingon’s chest. “I – I didn’t… You – you touched me like… like _that_ , and…”

“Oh,” Fingon breathed, and guilt twisted like a knife in his innards as Maedhros softly began to cry once more. How could he have been so stupid, so careless? After all that Maedhros had been through, after all that had been done how could he even _think_ that his cousin would want such affections? “Oh, Nelyo, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I – “ 

“I d-didn’t like it…” Maedhros bubbled into his chest, and each distressed little quake of his shoulders only dug that hurt deeper into Fingon’s heart. Sorrowfully then Fingon held him, until slowly his sobs began to subside, and after a few aching minutes Maedhros lay still in his arms. 

“I’m so sorry, Nelyo,” Fingon said gravely. “Truly, from the very depths of my heart I did not mean to… to scare you. That will never happen again, I promise, not unless you should want it of me.” 

“I’m s-sorry, Finno,” Maedhros whispered, “It’s m-my fault…” 

At the worrisome hitch in his voice Fingon held him a fraction tighter, and soothingly he whispered, “No, it’s not. It’s not, and you must believe me when I say this. But you must promise me something in return, now. You must promise me that if I ever frighten you again, if something happens between us that you don’t like, that you need me to stop, then you must tell me, Nelyo. You _must.”_

“But…” Maedhros’ voice trailed off, he seemed to wrestle with a question inside of him for a few silent moments. But then so awfully, and with such devastating uncertainty the words at last trembled over his lips. “Is it okay to say ‘no’, Finno?” 

It felt like someone had sewn Fingon’s throat shut with wire, it felt like his chest might shatter from the sheer pressure of the grief that rose in him at such a horrible, plaintive question. The words stuck in his throat but as quickly as he could he grappled them upwards, he pushed them clumsily over his tongue as he croaked: “Of course! Of course it is, great-heart.”

“Even to you?” 

“Especially to me.” 

“Oh,” Maedhros murmured, and all too clearly could Fingon feel the tremors shake through him as he whispered, “I… I wasn’t allowed to, b-before…” 

“I know,” Fingon sighed, his voice cracking upon the syllables as sorrow bubbled up in him anew. It took a conscious effort to stop himself clenching his fingers into Maedhros’ shoulders, from tightening his grip as if somehow that could erase what had been done, as if somehow that could shield Maedhros from what atrocities had already been committed upon him. 

Hard Fingon swallowed, he pushed down the lump of grief that clotted in his throat and regretfully then he whispered, “I know. But it’s different now. It’s over now. And if something is wrong, if something frightens you then you must tell me so I can stop, or I can fix it, or I can help. Because that’s all I want to do, Nelyo. I just want to help you, in any way that I can. But sometimes in order to help you, you must tell me how, do you see?” 

Against him Maedhros nodded slowly, and after a moment more of silence huskily he whispered, “Okay…” 

For a while then Fingon simply held him, with as much apologetic grace as he possibly could. But after a while the words rose up in him, childish and silly as they seemed, but he had to be sure, he had to know, and so eventually he asked: “Are we still friends, Nelyo?” 

In his arms Maedhros stirred, he pulled back from their embrace and raising his head he brushed the tearstains from his cheeks with the palm of his hand. Maedhros’ tired eyes met Fingon’s, but earnestly he nodded, and though his voice was quiet it sounded certain. 

“I still want to be your friend, Finno.” 

A rueful smile curved over Fingon’s face then, it seemed to illumine him. Gently then Fingon settled himself against the pillows, and once he was comfortable he began to recite a poem into the warm air of the tent. Beside him Maedhros curled up, his hand moving to cling gently to the folds of Fingon’s tunic as he closed his eyes and listened to Fingon’s steady voice. From within the lilt and flow of Fingon’s words the forgiving embrace of sleep beckoned to him, and eventually he gave in to its call.

 

* * *

EDIT: Inspired by both this scene and Open Wounds generally, check out [this amazing little comic](http://snartha.tumblr.com/post/101351224531/short-russingon-comic-under-the-cut) done by snartha on Tumblr. Warning: NSFW. 


	2. Angwedh

Fingon shifted himself amongst the pile of cushions, and lying curled into his side Maedhros tilted his head. The gentle glow of the lantern bathed the walls of the healing tent in a warm golden wash, and for some hours they had huddled quietly together reading, and playing little word games of Fingon’s own devising. 

“ _Aearon_ ,” Maedhros mumbled, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar Sindarin pronunciation. “The Great Sea. Círdan and the Falathrim live upon its shores.”

“Very good,” Fingon smiled in return, and softly he squeezed his cousin closer to him, gripping Maedhros gently about the side to not disturb the brace and sling that secured his wounded right arm. “Now, two more to go.”

For a moment Maedhros hesitated, a frown of concentration knotted over his brows as he sifted through the seemingly endless lists of vocabulary that he had memorised, until at last he murmured, “ _Awartha_.”

Fingon inhaled a painful breath at such a word; it seemed to strike far too close to the mark. But softly, and without hint of accusation in his voice, Maedhros continued, “Sometimes… sometimes when the road is hard you might have to _forsake_ possessions that you cherish.” 

Fingon exhaled snort of laughter, and wryly then he replied, “Just you try telling that to Finrod… Now, one more, and perhaps we will move on to something more challenging, hmm?” 

For a long while Maedhros paused, for so long that Fingon crooked his head to peer concernedly down at him. But even with the gentle motion, Maedhros whispered, “ _Angwedh_.” 

Openly Fingon winced, and Maedhros’ voice shook audibly as in Quenya he repeated, “Ch-chains…” 

Fingon’s heart sank, and ruefully he began, “Nelyo, don’t…” 

But such sympathies came far too late, for Maedhros curled himself miserably into Fingon’s side, his face pressed into his cousin’s chest as he murmured, “He used to make me wear them…” 

And with such awful clarity Fingon could feel Maedhros begin to shiver; he could feel the little tremors of distress quaking through his cousin’s shoulders. But though so desperately he wanted to quieten him, to comfort him, to simply not have to hear whatever horrific words might spill next over his lips, he remained silent. If Maedhros wanted to talk then let him, he and all of his cousins had long since decided, and Fingon was not cruel enough to rob him of that right. So merely he held his cousin close, and bitterly he listened as Maedhros’ words crawled over his lips. 

“For a while, I think, he k-kept me by his throne. To show me off, to… to laugh at me. And there were ch-chains around my wrists, my ankles, there was one around my neck and sometimes he would just leave me alone, just leave me kneeling there on the floor but then sometimes he would take it. He would hold it in his hand and he would make me do… th-things. Sometimes he – he would pet me, like… like I was just a dog, _his_ dog, a-and…” 

Maedhros’ speech subsided with a shudder, but after a few shaky breaths waveringly he continued, “And I tried to do what he said, I _t-tried_ … I just didn’t want them to hurt me anymore. I didn’t want him to do something _worse_.   

And sometimes if he said I had been good then he might feed me, he p-put some meat in front of me. He made me eat it from his hands…

But then one time I r-realised… I – I wasn’t supposed to, I was just supposed to be quiet and hurt when he wanted but I asked him _what_ the meat was, it tasted all weird, and then he just smiled at me. He just _s-smiled_ …” 

A bubbling retch caught in Maedhros’ throat, and with difficulty he swallowed it back down. Viciously he blinked back the tears that prickled behind his eyes, and more tightly still he pressed himself into Fingon, his left hand curling into his cousin’s shirt. 

“He gave me to his lieutenant then,” Maedhros croaked, and the words were merely ghosts of ancient pain upon his lips. Instinctively he flinched, his ribs jumped under Fingon’s gentle hold as he whispered, “I didn’t ask any more questions after that…” 

Silent tears dripped down Maedhros’ scarred cheeks, and even in the warmth of Fingon’s arms he shivered. 

“Hey, come on,” Fingon whispered wearily, soothingly. His cousin’s words chilled him down to the bone. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry now, greatheart, it’s all right. You’re all right.” 

“I d-don’t - ” Maedhros’ voice cut off in a strangled sob; a wet, rattling breath shuddered into his lungs. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I d-don’t want it…” 

“Shhh, Nelyo,” Fingon plead, sensing the note of impending hysteria in his cousin’s voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s over now, it’s all over.” 

Mournfully Maedhros raised his head, with hazel eyes full of pain he whispered, “Then why does it still hurt?”

A long silence rocked through the tent, and in the absence of Fingon’s answer Maedhros quailed. “I d-don’t want to feel scared anymore, Finno. But I do. I s-still do…” 

Fingon’s throat seemed suddenly full of grit, and as Maedhros began softly to cry again he reached up to stroke his cousin’s flushed cheeks. 

“Shhh, Nelyo,” he whispered, wiping the tears from Maedhros’ cheekbones and brushing the straggly fall of hair from his eyes. “It’s all right. Come on, what now is there to be scared of, hmm? You’re safe now, you’re here with us and you’re safe. It’s all over now.” 

“B-but…” Maedhros cringed into Fingon’s chest, ducking his head away, and swiftly Fingon moved to hold him anew, stroking his fingers in reassuring little circles over his cousin’s back and uninjured shoulder. 

“You can tell me, Nelyo, if you want to. Tell me what is wrong, and maybe I can help. Even if it’s just a little bit.” 

For a long while Maedhros lay in aching silence, and Fingon’s heart grieved for him. But after a time of quiet Maedhros at last shifted, and falteringly he spoke. But though his eyes remained closed, Fingon could still see the fresh tears that wetted his eyelashes. 

“I’m s-scared that I’m going to wake up. That this is all just a dream and… and I’m going to wake up again and I’m going to be there, with _th-them_ , and then…” 

Maedhros’ voice crumbled into tears once more, and fierce passion ignited in Fingon’s heart. As tightly as he dared he held his cousin to him, and with as much conviction as he could he near growled into the empty air, “That is not going to happen.”  

At the vehemence in his voice Maedhros flinched, and quickly Fingon softened. “It will not happen. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Nelyo? This I swear to you: this now is true. You’re safe now; you’re safe here in my arms. And you’re awake, and you’re alive, and I will never let them take you away from me again. Do you hear me?” 

Faintly Maedhros nodded, but he would not meet Fingon’s eyes. At that Fingon sighed, with such crushing, tender bitterness he looked upon the bowed crown of his cousin’s head.

“Am I dreaming, Finno?” Maedhros’ voice was barely audible, muffled as it was into Fingon’s chest. “Are you r-real?”

“Of course I am, Nelyo,” Fingon replied, with the utmost of self-control banishing the waver that threatened to break within his own voice. “Just as you are real, so am I. This is no dream sent to taunt you.”

“Do you promise?”

“With all of my heart.”

“Okay…”

And though uncertainty still quivered in Maedhros’ voice, he wriggled himself a fraction further into Fingon’s embrace, and tightly Fingon moved to envelop him into the warmest hug that he could. 

“Here now,” Fingon murmured, and Maedhros settled into a tearful repose against him, this face pressed into Fingon’s chest and his hand clenched about a spare fold of his shirt. “Here, rest for a while. The hour is late, but the shadows of night shall not encroach within these walls. I will not let them hurt you ever again.”


	3. Memorandum

“Why did we have to come?”

Elros’ chilly little face furrowed into a frown, and all the tighter did he clutch to Maglor’s left hand. The icy wind rustled through the canopy of oak and beech leaves above them, and Elros pressed himself into his guardian’s warmth, turning his face away from the grassy cliff-side that scraped away before them.

“We must pay our respects, dear one,” Maglor replied quietly, and his eyes came to a melancholy rest upon the sea-stained, rocky cairn that rested upon the cliff’s foremost point.

“I don’t like it here, Uncle Maglor,” another small voice mumbled. Elrond scrunched his face into the side of Maglor’s waist, and his words were muffled into Maglor’s fur-lined cloak as he whimpered, “I want to go home.”

“Soon, Elrond, soon,” Maglor murmured. “But we must do this first.”

Upon Maglor’s left Elros shifted, and a moment later with such plaintive naivety in his voice he asked: “Why do we have to? We didn’t know him...”

At that Maglor sighed, mournfully he looked back to the cairn and the blurred, grey horizon far beyond it, and distantly he said, “You would have liked him.” 

“Please, Uncle Maglor,” Elrond begged, hugging himself with distressing force into Maglor’s leg. “I – I don’t like it here. Please, please can we go home?” 

“Hush now, Elrond,” Maglor crooned, and his gloved right hand came about to hold his ward comfortingly about the shoulders. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s so empty…”

“It is the ache of the sea,” Maglor sighed, and sadly he looked beyond the cliff and to the rolling, white-capped waves that stretched on to the dim horizon. Far below, he could hear the distant roar and foam of the waves upon the shoreline, and above them a lonely gull cawed before gliding away, riding the buffets of air as skilfully as any mariner might sail the swell and ebb of the tides. “The sea fills us all with its longing, and with its grief. It has seen too much bitterness.” 

A twinge of sadness throbbed through Maglor’s heart, and from the pitiless waves his gaze broke away. Instead he looked back down at the red-cheeked, solemn faces of his wards, and with a melancholy smile then he bade them: “Go on, now. The both of you.” 

Gently he nudged them forward, and slowly they followed his direction. Side by side they walked the stretch of grassy cliff to the cairn, and crowned by the grey slurry of the skies they came to a respectful halt before it. The pile of rocks and pebbles was small, but skilfully it had been crafted, and well it had endured the weather’s fury. A slightly smudged name was lettered in red ink across some of the larger stones at the cairn’s base, and resting next to it was laid Maglor’s flower from not minutes before. Sheltered from the wilds of the wind a slender purple lily nodded on its stalk, its stem wrapped about with a delicate scroll of parchment, and as Elros squinted down at it he could just discern the slight pattern of musical notations that wound about the curled paper.  

Beside it then he placed his flower, and Elrond did alike, setting two sprigs of white _uilos_ to bob beside Maglor’s lily. That done, solemnly they walked back to Maglor, who smiled wistfully upon their return and took each of them by the hand. Perhaps a minute passed as they stood in silence, when from the copse of woods behind them Maedhros at last stepped forward.

Instinctively Elrond shrank into Maglor’s side as Maedhros passed him by; some fey mood seemed to stir within his eldest guardian, and innately it frightened him. Effort wrenched in Maedhros’ every step, something confused and violent and hurting seemed to churn within him, and fearful of what such a thing might mean Elrond turned himself away. As Maedhros walked past them, Maglor caught his gaze, and seeing the muddle of his brother’s hazel eyes with a stoic, wordless nod he bade him do what he must. Taking one deep breath Maedhros moved away, he cradled his right arm tighter to him within its sling, and as the fingers of his left hand clenched into a bloodless fist about the stem of his own flower, resolutely he walked out towards the cairn.  

A moment passed in unsure silence, until timidly Elrond murmured, “Uncle Maedhros was shaking.” From Maglor’s side he uncurled himself, and confusion shone in his bright, grey eyes as he peered up at his guardian. “What’s wrong, Uncle?” 

For a while Maglor was silent, what delicate words he sought eluded him, they died away into the pall of melancholy that cast itself over his heart. But keenly Elrond looked up to him, his little brows wrinkled in puzzlement until Maglor clumsily brought himself to an answer.

“This… this is hard on your Uncle Maedhros, Elrond. It is harder than for most. You must understand that, both of you, and you must be forgiving of him.”

“But why?” Elros asked, and concernedly he frowned over to Maedhros’ turned back as his guardian came to a halt before the cairn. “What’s wrong with him?”

“This life,” Maglor began sadly, ”… this life has not been kind to my brother. It has left its scars; carved in flesh and in wounds yet deeper.”

A long, thoughtful silence passed, and forlornly Elrond murmured, “Sometimes he looks very lonely.”

The innocence in his voice nearly clove Maglor’s chest in two. 

“He has lost too much,” Maglor replied at length, squeezing the twins’ hands tightly within his own as he watched Maedhros sink to his knees before the cairn. “He has had too much stripped away.” 

“Did he lose someone he loved? Someone… someone else?”

Hard Maglor swallowed down the hot clutch of emotion that seemed to swell at the base of his throat, and eventually he answered, “Yes. We… we both have. This life has not been kind, nor fair, but to Maedhros more than his share of cruelty has been dealt. He struggles, I see it day by day, these long years wear upon him, but…” 

With a rueful sigh Maglor broke off, and he looked to his brother’s turned back; only a few score metres away but for that they might as well have been sundered by leagues. 

“I - ” Elrond began falteringly, and tightly he held to Maglor’s hand as he said more firmly, “I don’t want Uncle Maedhros to be sad.”

“Oh?” Maglor murmured, though in truth only the slightest of incoherent noises emanated from deep within his throat.

“Me neither!” Elros chirped, and earnestly he looked up at his guardian. “And he doesn’t have to be sad anymore, right, Uncle Maglor? Because he’s got us now, and _we_ love him.” At his brother’s words Elrond nodded vehemently, and as the pair of eager, concerned faces looked up at him Maglor simply could not find the words to respond. 

“We _do_ love him,” Elros continued brightly. “He was teaching us yesterday how to… how to ride on the ponies, and when we rode here he let me do the reins on Callar, did you see? He says I’m the best at riding because Elrond fell off the first time but then he says that Elrond is good at other things, and that’s okay too. I like it when he teaches us things…” Elros trailed off, the excitement of his speech dwindled into a contemplative calm, but swiftly Elrond continued. 

“I like it when Uncle Maedhros teaches us Khuzdul. He said he had a friend called Az… Aza… um, I can’t quite remember it but he had a friend, and then he was teaching me how to say funny words in Khuzdul.” More sober Elrond grew then, and with seriousness beyond his short years he looked up at Maglor and pronounced, “I don’t want Uncle Maedhros to be sad, Uncle Maglor. I don’t like it when people are sad.”

A fond smile curved over Maglor’s lips, and at last feeling capable of some semblance of speech he crouched down to look his two wards in the eyes.

“Now,” he said, and desperately he tried to ignore the thickness of his voice as he caught the earnest little glimmers in the twins’ gazes. “I think that maybe when Maedhros comes back, you should tell him that. I think that sometimes he needs to hear it. Or if you like, maybe you should tackle him with the biggest, fiercest hug that you two can muster, don’t you think?” 

Both twins nodded eagerly, but Elrond was the first to look away. The smile slipped from his lips as he beheld where Maedhros was kneeling before the cairn, and even at the distance he could see all too clearly how the flower shook within his guardian’s hand as he drew it towards the rocks. 

For beside the twins’ flowers Maedhros set his own blossom down; the golden celandine petals gleamed like little droplets of sunlight against the drear, weathered stones, and after a long while of silence Maedhros cleared his throat. 

“You… you used to bring me flowers,” he said, his voice little more than a murmur as he looked down at the cairn. “When I… when I was hurting, then sometimes I would look over to where you had placed them upon the dresser, and sometimes they would help me. They would help me remember where I was, remember who I was. They were so bright, so vivid against that cream canvas and I… I always wondered where you had found them. You always picked the best flowers…” 

For a moment Maedhros wavered, the words hooked into his throat and no matter how hard he tried he could not quite wrench them forth. So for a moment he simply sat, his eyes drifted shut as the crash of the waves enveloped him, and at last he found it within himself to continue. “I, um… Elrond and Elros, the boys are… they’re doing well. I was… I promised you I’d take care of them, do you remember? I... I held your hand and I promised you. And I’m doing it. I’m _doing it_. I’m trying… I…" 

Maedhros’ throat came to a bitter close; hot, prickling tears welled up behind his eyes and desperately he tried to bite them back even as he croaked, “They remind me so much of you. Of both of you. So… so curious, so s-sensitive…” To the uncaring skies Maedhros tipped his head back, hard he bit down upon his lower lip but still he could not stop its tremble. “I’m _trying_ , Pityo. I’m trying so hard to hold on, to do it for them, but…” 

The words clotted upon his lips; miserably he slumped forward, his hand knotted into a shivering fist upon his knee as softly he began to cry. 

“… I’m _sorry_ …” 

And in that instant Elrond darted from Maglor’s side, across the narrow sweep of the cliff he bolted, and before Maedhros could even begin to gather himself, a warm little body dived into his lap. Elrond’s chubby fingers clutched desperately into the quilts of Maedhros’ tunic, into his chest Elrond buried his face, and with fierce, fragile intensity Elrond hugged his guardian for all he was worth. And after a moment of shocked stillness, Maedhros moved to hug him back.

“Please don’t be sad, Uncle Maedhros,” Elrond said, his voice squashed into Maedhros’ chest and yet dreadful in its poignancy. After a few moments more Elrond wriggled free of such their embrace, and standing before Maedhros then he looked his guardian solemnly in the eye. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore.” 

“Elrond…” Maedhros began softly, thickly; but before he could continue, another frowning little face appeared before him.

“I don’t either, Uncle!” Elros said, and in tearful astonishment Maedhros stared back at his wards who stood so determinedly before him.

“Come,” a gentle voice entreated; and blindly Maedhros reached up to his left, with such grateful, weary familiarity he took Maglor’s hand and allowed his brother to pull him to his feet. Upright he swayed for a moment, sorrow seemed to stab through him and the horizon blurred as fresh tears glossed over his eyes. But subtly Maglor helped to steady him, and so eagerly, so adoringly the twins looked up to him that savagely he wiped the tears from his cheeks, and shakily he smiled down at them in what heartsick reassurance he could. 

Elrond latched to Maedhros’ hand as it came to a rest by his side, his warm little fingers slipped into his guardian’s scarred palm. Worriedly Elrond looked up at Maedhros again; the wind ruffled his cropped, auburn hair about his grief-stained cheeks, the ghosts of pain still haunted his eyes, but gone was that terrible emotion of before, and for that Elrond’s heart was lightened. Slowly then Elrond felt Elros take his left hand, and Maglor joined him in kind; and in a solemn row they stood then in silent remembrance. A lonesome gull wheeled and screeched overhead, the waves crashed remorselessly upon the broken shores below, but in that moment no words were spoken, no words needed to be spoken as in such aching stillness they simply stood before the cairn. 

And at the last, as the minutes crawled by, as the clouds swirled low and grey over an uncertain horizon Maglor murmured, “May you find peace, Ambarussa.”        

 


	4. Oats and Lightning

_Restless nights haunt the Fëanorians' halls, and Maedhros and Maglor's new wards more than most._

* * *

 

“You did not do it then.” Maglor’s voice was low, and gravely he looked upon his brother, who drew himself up against the pillows, folding his knees loosely up to his chest beneath the thick bedcovers. “You will not do it now.”

“Káno,” Maedhros whispered, and the quiver in his voice was unmistakeable. “You don’t understand. It… it doesn’t go away.” 

“Nelyo…” 

“These… these things, they… everything that we’ve done, everything that I have done, they don’t fade away…” Sorrowfully Maedhros inclined his head, and even the twilight of his bedroom could not mask the pain that bleached through his eyes. “They’re in my head, still, they’re there every time I close my eyes…”

Maedhros’ voice trailed off, and slowly then Maglor leaned forward to embrace him. Atop the covers Maglor sat, still dressed in his daywear despite the late hour, and he reached his arm around the forlorn slump of Maedhros’ shoulders and squeezed him as tightly as he dared. 

“I know,” Maglor murmured, and beneath his arm he could feel the tremors running through his brother’s shoulders. “I know.” 

“I just want them to leave me alone…” 

At that Maglor winced, despairingly he looked to the shadows that shrouded Maedhros’ bedchamber, yet through centuries of numbing practise his voice remained resolute even as he said: “You have to be strong, Nelyo. For all these years you have been so brave, and now – “ 

A quiet knock sounded upon the door, and Maglor’s speech halted in surprise. Maedhros raised his head curiously, and for a moment both brothers stared in anticipant silence at the closed door. A moment later the knock came again, a fraction louder this time, followed by a shy little call. 

“Uncle Maedhros?”

A moment later the door edged open, and Elros’ tired face peeked timidly through the crack.

“Uncle Maedhros, I –“ 

Hurriedly Maedhros pulled his nightshirt shut, smoothing its lapels over his chest to conceal his scarred skin below in a move that had long since become reflexive. As he moved Maglor straightened up beside him, turning to sit companionably upon the unoccupied side of the bed. 

“S-sorry, uncles,” Elros said fearfully, and as he spoke the door creaked open a fraction further, revealing the shadowed silhouette of his brother just behind him. “I th-thought…”

Maglor glanced quickly at Maedhros, but the appearance of their wards seemed to have thankfully distracted his brother from his former maudlin mood, and Maedhros looked to the twins with a mild sort of curiosity. 

“Come in, dear ones,” Maglor said then, and with that reassurance given Elros pushed the door open, anxiously walking into Maedhros’ bedchamber and pulling Elrond behind him by the hand. A stuffed toy horse swung by its hoof from Elrond’s free hand, and tightly he clutched onto it as somewhat warily they approached the bed. 

Upon seeing the worried expression that clouded over Elros’ face, and Elrond’s weary eyes limned in red, sore-looking flesh Maglor quickly pulled the twins up onto his lap, holding one small body each in his arms.

“What’s wrong, now?” Maglor asked as the twins began to settle, and quickly Elrond clasped his horse to his chest, his hair falling in a sleep-mussed tumble over his face as his head bowed. 

“Elrond had a nightmare,” Elros said quietly, his eyes wide and so naively troubled as he looked up at Maglor. “He was crying.” 

At his brother’s speech Elrond’s chin wobbled, tears glossed afresh over his eyes, and tightly he pressed himself into Maglor’s chest, squashing his toy horse in between the juncture of their bodies. His chubby fingers curled into the folds of Maglor’s tunic, and in turn Maglor moved to hold him all the more reassuringly, snuggling him into his chest. 

“Come here, sweet one,” Maglor murmured. “It’s all right now. It’s all right. They are only dreams, after all. They cannot hurt you.” 

“It was s-scary…” Elrond’s voice was scarcely audible, muffled as it was into Maglor’s chest. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“N-no…” Elrond sniffed, withdrawing from their contact for an instant to fiercely wipe the tears from his cheeks, before curling himself into Maglor once more. 

“Here now, it’s all right,” Maglor crooned. “Everybody has bad dreams sometimes, Elrond, everybody. But there’s nothing to be scared of now, not here.” 

A contemplative silence fell for a while, until at last it was broken by Elrond’s murmur. 

“Do grown-ups have bad dreams sometimes?” 

For a moment more Maglor was silent, delicately he tried to choose his words, until from beside him Maedhros abruptly answered: “Yes.”

“Really, Uncle Maedhros?” Elrond uncurled himself a little from Maglor’s tunic, and with wide eyes he looked over to Maedhros, peeping out from below the tangled fall of his hair. “Do you have nightmares too?” 

A long, uncomfortable silence passed; Maglor warily awaited what reaction to such an innocent question might come, but Maedhros merely nodded, and a glimmer of sadness leached into his eyes. 

Elrond wiped at his cheeks with his hands once more, and with that a measure of resolve seemed to fill him. Slowly he clambered from Maglor’s arms, and as he moved Maedhros shifted his legs beneath the covers, allowing Elrond to sit somewhat nervously in his lap.

For a while they sat in silence. Elrond’s eyes flickered over Maedhros’ right arm, his gaze lingered upon the severance at his wrist, and even though he did not quite understand what it meant, somehow it made him feel sad. More intently then Elrond looked up at Maedhros; he looked at the pale, scarred skin over his guardian’s chest that had become exposed with their movements. Shyly Elrond reached up, he stretched his fingers for a moment towards a scar that groped over Maedhros’ sternum, before tentatively withdrawing a moment later. 

“Did… did something bad happen, Uncle Maedhros?” 

Slowly Maedhros’ eyes closed, deeply he inhaled, and his mouth opened as if to speak. But as the seconds crawled on the words simply did not come. In answer Maedhros merely moved to hold Elrond tightly to him, cuddling his warm little body into the left of his torso, and led by an emotion that he did not understand Elrond burrowed his face into his chest. With that movement though Elrond’s stuffed horse was caught between their bodies, and after a short while Elrond began to twist it free, before cradling it to his chest and hugging it there.

“Who is this now, Elrond?” Maedhros asked softly, but with a hot clutch of melancholy Maglor could hear the thickness in his brother’s voice, he could hear the drowning note of despair that begged for some measure of distraction.

“She’s called Lightning,” Elrond replied, and fondly he looked down upon the horse in his arms. “Uncle Maglor gave her to me. Elros has one too: he’s called Oats. He is very brave and strong. Elros makes him like that when we play, so that Oats can be like Nahar and Rochallor in the stories. Oats is brave like them, isn’t he, Elros?” 

Elros, who was nestled into Maglor’s arms and peacefully dozing there, did not give a reply. 

“Oh,” Maedhros murmured, “tell me, now, what is Lightning like?” 

“She is very gentle, and her mane is silvery like the moon. And her coat is all speckly like the stars, see?” Elrond’s fingers stroked through the soft, white strands of his horse’s mane, and the glass beads of its eyes seemed to twinkle in merriment. “She is brave too, I think. But she is gentle. Sometimes she helps me feel better when the nightmares come.” 

“Then,” Maedhros sighed, “you are very lucky to have her.” 

“Maybe…” Elrond began cautiously, and with wide, plaintive eyes he gazed up at Maedhros. “Maybe she should stay with you for a little bit, Uncle Maedhros? If you have bad dreams sometimes too then maybe she could make you feel better.” 

“Oh, no, Elrond,” Maedhros replied gently, and waveringly he smiled down at the elfling in his lap. “No, I could not take her from you. She is yours.” 

“No,” Elrond said firmly, and a frown of childish determination settled over his face. “No, I want her to stay with you.” In Maedhros’ arms he wriggled himself about, and beside the pillows he arranged the little horse into a sitting position, its head nodding benevolently as it wobbled upon the bedspread. 

“See, Uncle Maedhros,” Elrond said, twisting himself back around to settle into the crook of Maedhros’ left arm. Suddenly he yawned, and tiredly he pressed himself into Maedhros’ chest, and as his eyes drifted slowly shut at last he murmured: “Now she can look after you too.”


	5. Nothing Left to Say

_Post Nirnaeth Arnoediad_

* * *

 

Clouds of ash smeared across the horizon; the sun hovered in a red and bloody orb between the cleft of the distant hills. An acrid tang blew upon the crawling breeze; it ruffled through the tawny plumage of the great eagle’s feathers as it turned its proud head from the glowering mountains of the North.  

Thorondor’s vassal stood within a grave circlet of Noldorin elves, the shaken survivors of the horrors that had come before, and sombrely he spoke with Celegorm in his avian tongue. The fey lord stood wearily; his words though still even were spoken heavily, and the elves about him were silent. The wind moaned across the deathly plain, it snatched the murmur of Celegorm’s voice and dissolved it, when from beyond the solemn party a sudden cry broke.

“ _You!_ ” 

Horror sutured Celegorm’s throat shut; that voice so familiar and yet so twisted seemed to stab right through him. It was so painful to turn around. It was almost easier not to. 

A figure tore away from the encampment nearby, a flash of auburn hair gleamed like a wound in the arterial light, and all too clearly Celegorm could hear just how distraught his brother was.

“You!”Maedhros shrieked, he clawed through the circlet of elves towards Celegorm and the eagle, and before him all fell dismayed. For a glimmer of madness swum in his eyes; they were lit up in nothing but incandescent rage as he glared at the great bird. _“Where were you?”_

“Maedhros!” Where Maglor had appeared from, Celegorm was uncertain, but his sudden presence had no pacifying effect. 

For even as Maglor laid a quiescent hand upon Maedhros’ arm violently he was shrugged aside, Maedhros near ripped himself from his grip as he stumbled towards the eagle, as blindly, shrilly, with such rending anguish in his voice he screeched, _“Where were you?”_

Quickly the on-looking elves dispersed, Maedhros stood there quivering as he stared up at the eagle, and at last Celegorm began soothingly, “Nelyo, there was nothing– “ 

“ _No_!” Maedhros shrieked; his voice almost seemed to buckle under the strain of maintaining coherency. “Not you. You can speak, Eagle! You can speak our tongue. I have seen you, I have heard you, and you will answer me now!” Upon his feet Maedhros swayed, Maglor moved silently closer to steady him, and in a terrible voice almost beyond the veils of sanity Maedhros plead, _“Where were you?”_

The eagle’s great gold-flecked eyes encompassed him, transfixed him; for a moment they were the only thing in the world that stitched him together. But then slowly the eagle looked away, its feathers fluttered sadly in the breeze, and with that unspoken admission Maedhros fell apart. 

“You were supposed to _be there_ ,” he screamed. His hand clenched into a trembling fist by his side, and Maglor’s gentle grip about his shoulder betrayed only how hard his entire body was shaking. “You… you were… I c-couldn’t… I couldn’t get there but… but you could and you were _there,_ b-but…” Suddenly his voice sharpened once more, and such unspeakable turmoil blazed in his eyes as he shrieked, “ _You were supposed to save him!_ That’s what you _do_ , isn’t it? You come and help, you fucking _intervene,_ you… _f-fuck_ –“

A brittle inhalation rattled in over his teeth, and with that slight movement his knees buckled, a huge sob hitched in his throat and finally then hysteria slammed into him fully. Maglor lunged forward to catch him as he fell; he darted about to clutch Maedhros tightly into his chest as he eased them both down to their knees. 

“You were s-supposed to save him.” The words slid in between sobs, they studded them like puncture wounds. “It w-wasn’t mean to be me. It should have been him… _It sh-should have been him_ …” A keen of such utter anguish tore from his throat; it punched through Maglor’s stomach, and above them Celegorm turned his face aside. 

“Shh, Maedhros,” Maglor whispered, he crooned, he _begged_. “Shh, Nelyo, it’s okay. It’s…” The words, the _lies_ died away in his throat. For what was even the point in breathing life into them? What words, what feeble words of consolation could ever rectify such bitter loss? 

Numbly Maglor felt the tears slip down his own cheeks as he mourned, as every shudder of Maedhros against him sent a fresh spear of sorrow skewering through his heart.  

“It sh-shouldn’t be me…” Maedhros gulped, his face crushed into Maglor’s chest. “He should… he should have lived. He – he… _It shouldn’t be_ _me_.” 

What words Maglor longed for simply would not come; he could not even begin to marshal them as Maedhros curled all the tighter into him. But after a few moments more, the eagle slowly stepped forward. Over Maglor’s shoulder it waited respectfully, and eventually Maedhros lifted his head to it, and Maglor turned in kind. A mournful hum swelled from its great chest, a melancholy glimmer shone in its eyes as it peered down at the two huddled elves.

And through sore, red-rimmed eyes, even through the tears that trickled afresh down his flushed cheeks, Maedhros croaked, “Why?” 

The eagle bowed low before him, its great eyes blinked slowly shut, and in a deep, rich voice it simply intoned, _“I am sorry.”_

Gradually Maedhros nodded, slowly at first and then more frantically, and as Maglor instinctively moved to embrace him once more, perhaps for a moment the world did truly come undone. Desperately, pleadingly Maedhros clung to Maglor’s tunic, his head bowed in despair as the evil news rocked through him anew; irredeemable, inescapable, and with such bitter poignancy then did tears shake him afresh. Into Maglor’s arms he slumped forwards, and as if he could somehow protect his brother from all of the callous atrocities of the world he just cradled Maedhros to him; Maglor just held him as tightly as he dared as such choking, _hurting_ sobs wrenched up through him. 

In the dust there motionless they knelt, and if the heavens themselves had come toppling down around them then it could not have roused them from their lament. Maglor simply held to Maedhros; silent he remained as the tears flowed freely down his own cheeks, and with the strength of his will alone he prayed that such grief might eventually be stayed, that such aching sorrow might one day pass and be washed away by mercy. 

He prayed to gods that he knew would not care, and in the same breath he _cursed_ them. 

He cursed them their cruelty, their enmity, their capriciousness, he cursed them every hurt ever inflicted upon him and his people by their arrogance, by their negligence, and still to them he prayed. With every ounce of reverence and grace left to him, he prayed for his brother.   

Maedhros keened a series of broken, whimpering sobs into Maglor’s chest, his trembling knees slipped across the dirt as he gripped all the tighter into Maglor’s tunic, and silently Maglor held him as the eagle departed at Celegorm’s side, and the dusk slowly thickened around them.

There was simply nothing left to say.


	6. The Lord and his Steed

_So for me, horses and happiness go hand in hand, and I thought to write a nice little moment for Maedhros, Fingon, and Rochallor._

* * *

 

“I don’t know if I can…” Maedhros was hollow; worriedly he chewed upon his lip, and he glanced to Fingon who stood resolutely by his side.

“You can,” Fingon replied softly, and encouragingly he smiled. He had led Maedhros by the gentlest route out to the rolling fields beyond the Fëanorian encampment; he had helped his cousin when he stumbled, when he tired, and amid the verdant grasses at last now they stood. “I know you can.”

The warm breeze ruffled through Maedhros’ cropped hair, it floated alike through the silvery mane of the great grey horse who stood before them. For upon their coming Rochallor had sighted them from afar, he had pranced and snorted with such excitement as Fingon had hailed him, and before them now the bold horse stood proudly.

“I – “ 

Maedhros’ voice was abruptly severed as Rochallor nuzzled his head into his left arm; as if the horse somehow understood the significance of it he left undisturbed the brace and sling that secured Maedhros’ right arm and shoulder. A hot gust of breath billowed over Maedhros’ neck and cheek as the horse raised his head, and he shivered as that unfamiliar sensation prickled over his skin. The edges of his lips quirked anxiously, but beside him Fingon smiled, and taking courage from his cousin’s ease, gradually Maedhros relaxed. For it was not a horrible sensation, he told himself, it was not cruel, there was something strangely intimate, something friendly about the way that Rochallor’s furry nose snuffled at the ends of his hair, and slowly, shakily, he reached up to pat the horse upon the cheek.

Before him Rochallor bowed his head, with dark, clear eyes he appraised him for a moment, and took a few short paces backwards. For as if he could yet understand the healing injuries that still plagued Maedhros’ _hröa,_ Rochallor sank down among the grasses, he folded his legs elegantly beneath him and offered his bare, strong back so that Maedhros might without trouble mount him. His mane drifted like spidery tendrils of spun silver in the breeze as he bent his neck, and over his shoulder he whickered invitingly as Maedhros hesitated.

“Go on,” Fingon urged gently, and proudly he smiled as Maedhros took one tentative step towards the horse.

“I’m just…” The breeze seemed to snatch the words from Maedhros’ lips, and emptily he gazed down at Rochallor before him. “I’m just a bit nervous…”

“It’s alright,” Fingon crooned, gently he held to Maedhros’ hand as he saw his cousin’s fingers begin to tremble. “Rochallor will not let you fall, and neither will I, I promise you.” And as if he had understood Fingon’s words Rochallor snorted, he dipped his head almost in acquiescence as with a rattling, fortifying breath Maedhros lifted his chin, as he mustered up his courage.

Gripping tightly to Fingon’s hand he stepped forward, he slipped his right leg over Rochallor’s back, and as unobtrusively as he could Fingon helped to balance him behind the horse’s withers. It was hard, Fingon could tell, with the lopsidedness that the brace about his right arm enforced upon him Maedhros struggled to comfortably find his centre of gravity, yet after a few moments more of adjustment he at last seemed readied. He exhaled one shaky breath, and Fingon forsook his hand, guiding it instead to knot tightly into Rochallor’s mane. 

With one encouraging nod to his cousin Fingon stepped back a pace, and softly he clicked to Rochallor. With his right hand grasped securely about Maedhros’ thigh Fingon steadied him as Rochallor stood as smoothly as he was able, and yet still the frightened gasp that squeaked from his cousin’s throat with the motion sent Fingon’s heart lurching. 

But soon enough the horse stood placidly, and though his breathing was shallow Maedhros clenched his jaw in determination; unaided he wriggled his hips into a better seat upon Rochallor’s back. His fingers clutched into the horse’s mane, he wobbled for a moment as Rochallor took a step forward, but with Fingon’s calming presence and subtle aid at his side he swiftly rebalanced, and nervously he smiled.

“You alright?” Fingon asked gently, and quickly Maedhros nodded, his legs tensing about Rochallor’s flanks as slowly they began to walk. Fingon easily kept apace, and as Maedhros seemed gradually more comfortable atop Rochallor’s back, his grip upon his cousin’s leg lightened, until after a few minutes it ceased altogether.

For a while they ambled across the field in companionable silence, yet Fingon kept a carefully vigilant watch upon his cousin. And to his utmost delight, after a few minutes he furtively saw the starkness of Maedhros’ knuckles about his fistful of mane recede; at last he saw those scarred, skinny fingers come free and begin to pat Rochallor lightly upon the shoulder.

“I can still do it.” Maedhros’ voice quavered with emotion, it sent spears of happiness cleaving through Fingon’s heart as he drew himself up upon Rochallor’s back, as lightly, joyously he said, “Finno, I can still do it!”

An ecstatic grin curved over Fingon’s face, it seemed to illumine him in its radiance, and beside him Rochallor whickered. The horse’s great neck arched, and his flowing tail caught high in the breeze, and he carried himself and Maedhros atop him like a proud lord and his valiant steed stepped out of the legends of old.

And as he felt Rochallor lift beneath him, suddenly Maedhros giggled, he laughed, and with that achingly simple sound it was as if years of grief had sluiced from Fingon’s heart.

Hard Fingon blinked back the tears of joy from his eyes, for a long while he struggled to swallow down the hot clutch of emotion that swelled within his throat, and at his cousin he simply smiled. Deeply, purely he smiled; he patted Rochallor upon the neck as together they walked onwards, as the sunlight glowed golden and radiant down upon them, and as for the very first time since his rescue from that accursed mountain Maedhros chattered to him with true happiness in his voice.


End file.
